


Splendors and miseries in the wardrobe department.

by Radiolaria



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Gen, Not Beta Read
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-03
Updated: 2013-01-03
Packaged: 2017-11-23 13:24:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/622649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Radiolaria/pseuds/Radiolaria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They are lost in the closet. So to speak.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Splendors and miseries in the wardrobe department.

'Don't you _ever_ change?’

 

He pulled out his tongue at his reflection. Of course he does. He always did. That's the trouble.

'You know, if I wanted, I could change everything. Height. Skin colour. Gender. Everything.'

 

Donna jumped down from the trunk she was sat on and snatched with conviction a shimmering garment hanging on a chair.

 

'Why don't you? Surely you can find something more...' She pointed out his figure with a doubtful expression, which resulted in a whimpering 'what' from the Doctor.

 

'Well, you must admit...'

 

He slipped between the boxes and hanging rails to get closer to her, obviously offended.

 

'You are a bit _skinny_.'

 

'I'm not _skinny_.' His voice rang behind a large sea trunk concealed by a scarf of many colours.

 

'I could hug you to death.'

 

'Course you could,' he stated, spitefully. Mismatched pairs of socks were gracefully drawing arcs in the air. He came back to the mirror, grabbed a box of ties and attempted to choose one. ‘But I'm tall.'

 

Donna was examining the piece of material in her hands, only so much interested in the Doctor's pride. ‘You’re just a stick with fluffy hair at the top. I like the colour of that.'

 

They were now conversing rather loudly, unaware of the possibility that sounds could travel in a box maze.

 

'My shape is … elegant,' he cried.

 

'Oh God, how does one get into that thing?' Donna was still struggling with the shining material. 'You could do with a little more meat. Why are you the thin man, if you can choose to be Gary Cooper?’

 

'Tin man? I wouldn't say that.'

 

'Remove that ridiculous thing from your ears! I said _thin man_. But why not Cary Grant?’

 

'I'm not William Powell. That does not work like that.'

 

'William Pow... Are you listening when I talk!? I asked why can't you turn right now into a super handsome bloke. What is this _thing_?’

 

A series of straight ties and an ascot promptly settled on an electric blue mannequin

 

'I can't, I'll need to die first. And really, it does not work like that. Stop trying to wear my dust cover.'

 

'Well, if you nicely ask, I can help with the dying!' She blurted out while stuffing the dust garment in the nearest box.

 

'Not my fault if you don't like tall and slim.' He was trying on a patterned tie, more to scare himself than anything else. ‘Would you rather have me green and round?’

 

'You're not a pea,' she retorted, not amused. 'Gimme that hat, if that's not a lampshade. I want to try it on.'

 

He silently picked up the hat and threw it above the trunk fortress. She fitted the thing on her head and he appreciatively nodded.

 

'What made you choose this appearance the last time?’

 

'I don't know. I do not particularly excel at controlling this process.'

 

Donna was carefully making her way toward the mirror, hands on the hat to prevent an unfortunate slip. When she finally joined him, she pushed him aside, stood firm before the mirror and started studying her reflection while he was intently studying her. Oblivious, she pursued her inquiry.

 

'But the others of your species, they can?’

 

'My species,' he snorted. 'Well, some can. It's not easy.'

 

'I take it you are _that_ incompetent at changing your appearance.'

 

'Oi!'

 

'I'm ignoring you. Too bad it's not snow-proof; it's rather pretty for an alien headdress.' She tossed the hat aside with a grieved expression. The second it hit the shapeless heap of fabrics a miniature clothing slide tumbled down and unearthed a familiar looking outfit – at least for the Doctor.

 

‘Oi!' Donna echoed the Doctor's surprise. ‘Why is there a leather bikini in the suitcase ?!'

 

'It's not a leather bikini. Put that down!' He was striving to grasp the piece of clothing but she was twisting on the spot, battling away his clamorous hands.

 

'Did you actually get someone to wear that? Is that why you always travel with girls?' She scampered and hid behind an ornate wooden chest.

 

'I don't get _anyone_ to wear _anything_. And I don't travel with _girls;_ I travel with boys, erm, _men_ and women, and a tin dog. And I'm practically sure I know at least one man who would wear the leather bik... _attire_. But that _attire_ belongs to Leela, she must have left it. You know, I had the TARDIS furnish her with changes of clothes. And she was not even from Earth! How's that!’

 

She rose from behind a hanging rail collapsing under the weight of velvet and capes. 'Does that mean, if one of your companions leaves, you keep their belongings?’

 

'Well, I'm not going to dump...' He innocently started but she stormed out of the velvet and began shaking the leather garment at his face.

 

'AND THE UNDERWEAR! You mean to say there are dozens of drawers in this ship filled with dead people's _underwear_?’

 

'Why would you think of the underwear first, there's also half read books and little notes and glasses and...'

 

'But there's the underwear! And my things. No one is allowed to touch them! I didn't sign for this, you understand? If one day, when I'm on a vacation from you, you invite on your TARDIS one of your... what was his name again... The Rani...'

 

'That's her, thank you. And she can't...'

 

'Or the Scrapyard,' he tentatively lifted a finger which she ignored. 'You double lock the door to my room or throw my things into the nearest star.'

 

'But Donna, little tokens, it's lovely to keep them.' He was pleading, unsure of how they got there from leather bikinis.

 

' _Little_ , not an entire room, with an entire life in it. The TARDIS is not a museum.' She concluded in jest.

 

There was a still moment in the room, as if the ship had drawn in a breath.

He was clenching his fists.

 

Donna dove for his eyes under his lowered lids.

 

She cracked a gentle smile.

 

'I thought we were getting ready for Switzerland 7. Come on. I'm sure we can find even more beautiful bow ties in the little shops.'

 

He relaxed. 

 

It was only a postponement.

 

'I don't like bow ties.'

 

'Well, one can never tell. There was a time I didn't like hats. Can you imagine?'  


End file.
